the twisted road brought forth a greater reward
by Diary
Summary: Warning: There are things non-Addams fans will likely find disturbing. In which Wednesday is a client of Wolfram and Hart and has to deal with Harmony Kendall, and in which, even as a non-client, Wednesday finds herself dealing with Harmony. Complete. Edited slightly.


Disclaimer: I do not own The Addams Family or Angel.

Warning: There are things non-Addams fans will likely find disturbing.

…

"Be an independent adult," Wednesday says, warily.

Wolfram and Hart has gotten stricter about clients unnecessarily killing their employees. Harmony Kendall may be a shallow vampire of subpar intelligence, but she knows how to take advantage of such things.

While Wednesday waits for test results and fills out too-many forms, Harmony insists on keeping her company and having 'girl chats'. Even when Wednesday gags her and locks her in closets, she somehow manages to get free in an impressively short amount of time. Drugging is somewhat more effective, but lately, security has cracked down on that, as well.

"I've tried," Harmony insists, blinking her big doe eyes. "It's just so hard making the right decisions, and whenever I let people make them for me, I either choose the wrong person or do something wrong and get abandoned!"

"I still live with my parents," Wednesday points out. She's not ashamed of the fact, but based on the fact Harmony complained last week about being set up with a 'loser who still lived with his mother', there's a possibility it might dissuade Harmony. She wishes she had thought of it before, actually.

"See, you make smart decisions," Harmony says, sighing. "You're a brilliant witch, you just graduated, um, I still can't say that, and now, you're going to have a baby. I'm never going to have a baby."

Wednesday is starting to have doubts about the last one. Grandmamma had offered to set her up with a nice young warlock, but while the matron could tell Wednesday all the bad habits of any potential donors, as well as give a complete sexual history on each, she couldn't give detailed medical history. Nor could she guarantee the man would respect the fact Wednesday simply wanted a donor rather than someone to be a part of the child's life.

Joel had recommended her to Wolfram and Hart, singing the praises of the new head of the LA branch. Apparently, one of them had helped him on a very important case. He'd assured her they'd not only find her a suitable donor, they'd cover her medical expenses and personally guarantee only her and her immediate family had any legal rights to the child.

'Why,' she inquired, 'would they do that? You know better than most how I feel about spreading evil.'

She has no objection to torturing her family, and when people outside it push her far enough, she won't hesitate in delivering her wrath. However, she doesn't believe in world domination (anymore; admittedly, it was a nice dream when she was nine and during a period of time when she was a hormonal teenager), and she doesn't indiscriminately target innocent people.

It turns out, they have plenty of powerful witches and warlocks at their disposal, but most of them are terrible at writing spells, never mind actual spellbooks. They were impressed by the one's she's published, and they want her as consultant for when specialised spells are required. Joel drafted a contract for her; she won't move to L.A., and once the baby hits seven, her contract expires, though the benefits promised don't. She doesn't torture anyone pregnant or under the age of eighteen, and rape, ritualistic or otherwise, is absolutely forbidden. She doesn't kill children or perform unwanted terminations. Cats, bunnies, and goats are fine, but she refuses to sacrifice anything reptilian or equestrian. Most importantly, her child is to receive full medical coverage until the age of a hundred.

The thing, is, she'd expected to be pregnant already.

Two weeks later, she's in L.A. (though, she will give them credit for providing decent accommodations), filling out more papers, submitting to more medical tests, and having to put up with an annoying bimbo who reminds her too-much of a blonde girl she once met at camp. She wonders if throwing Harmony outside, past the special windows, would get her contract voided.

"Miss Addams?"

Quickly, Wednesday stands up, following the demon into the room, firmly shutting the door as Harmony tries to enter.

"You really must do something about her," Wednesday repeats, not for the first time or even tenth time.

As always, the demon nods. She suspects it enjoys Harmony's toned bottom too much to take any complaints seriously. "Please, sit down, Miss Addams."

…

They've offered to fly her back home.

She declined, and now, she's getting drunk on arsenic. It's been two months since she drank any, wanting to be completely healthy for the baby.

_Infertile_.

Of course, they'd been sympathetic. They'd offered her use of the hotel until she caught a flight back, once it was established she wasn't going to make any deals for the ability to have children. They'd given her forms to cleanly dissolve the contract; she'll have Joel go over them once she gets back.

Wednesday's always been able to do anything. When she was little, her parents, uncle, and grandmamma always told her she could, and she's never doubted it. Some things were hard, some things were boring, but anything she wanted to do, she's been able to do. Her body has always been strong and resilient, able to withstand anything and, after years and years of practise, able to whistle and blow a bubble.

…

"Now, darling, don't you think that was a bit harsh," her mother inquires, only mildly scolding.

Biting her cheek, Wednesday doesn't answer.

Locking Pubert into the time-out room (painted baby pink and containing unrealistic paintings of kittens and bunnies) and blasting chipper Disney songs for three hours _was_ going too far, she'll admit.

"He hasn't tried to poison my coffee since I got back," Wednesday responds. "Nor has he put itching powder in my underwear. I'm not weak."

"No," Morticia agrees, sitting down. Ignoring Wednesday's squirms, she wraps her arms around her, stroking her hair. "It's okay to give into the pain, my little cambion, so long as you never let go of the knowledge you are a strong creature, loved by many. This may stay for the rest of your life, but I promise you, if you let us help, you can still be happy."

"You can't if you keep feeling sorry for me and treating me more like a guest than a family member."

"We don't feel sorry for you," Morticia assures her, kissing her hair. "We share your grief; this does affect us all, dear. I admit, we're having some trouble expressing that properly, but I'll talk to the others."

…

Life goes on, slowly returning to normal.

Pubert stops treating her as if she's delicate, Pugsley learns it's expected he taunt her about her infertility, just as she taunts him about his problems with his girlfriends, and her father gives her a rare albino wildcat for her birthday. More of her books are published, and she allows Uncle Fester to help her set up a blog.

Naturally, she's completely unprepared when Harmony appears on her doorstep.

…

"L.A. is burning," Harmony says, shivering as Lurch dumps more ice onto her. "Like, literally, majorly burning; the places that aren't on fire are filled with zombies, and the places not filled with zombies have people dying of this virus-plague thingy."

"And how exactly did you manage to escape," Pugsley inquires, curiously.

"A better question," though, she will admit that is a very good one on his part, "is: What are you doing here?"

"Oh!" Jumping up, Harmony grabs her bag; it's large and gaudy, and for some reason, has a lock on it. Withdrawing a key hanging from her neck, she unlocks it. "I brought you a present."

Whatever Wednesday was expecting (likely a vapid book not worth the trees killed to make it, or worse, some soft, glitzy beauty product), it definitely wasn't a red skinned, green-horned baby.

"How adorable," Morticia says, taking the baby. "Is he yours?"

"No," Harmony says, shaking her head. "His parents are dead; um, he seems to like cow blood the best. I was going to mercy-kill him, but then, I remembered you, like, really wanted a baby and seemed kind of sad when they said you were barren."

Disarming Thing, Morticia nods. "That was very thoughtful of you, my dear. Wednesday, darling, why don't you hold him? Perhaps, that'll perk him up; he's much too quiet."

Sighing, Wednesday takes the baby, reflecting it might have been better if Harmony had done a mercy-kill. Adoption rarely worked out well when it came to demons and humans. "The child is a girl," she informs them, turning the baby upside down and thumping it on the head. Bitterly, she reflects she'll have to send a thank-you note to her college advisor; he'd all but forced her into taking a child development class, and as luck would have it, the proper care of Jeng-hi demons had been covered.

"But he has-"

"No," Wednesday says, relieved when the baby starts turning a nice shade of blue, her curly hair rapidly falling out in large clumps. "All Jeng-hi babies are born with that; when she turns eight, it'll start to invert. Boys don't have ridges behind the ears."

Sitting down, she adds, "And you're lucky the cow blood didn't cause liver damage; Jeng-hi babies need to be raised on a strictly vegan diet. Usually, around two-hundred, they can introduce dairy safely into their diet."

"Can we be sure of that," Morticia inquires. Wednesday takes great pleasure in seeing Thing cut off a large chunk of Harmony's hair while her mother's distracted. "Should we take her to a doctor?"

"Well," Harmony huffs, apparently unaware she now has a bald spot, "you could try to be more appreciative. I mean, do you know how hard it is to travel with a baby? Or what I had to do to get that cow blood?"

Then, "So, could I crash her for a little while? I have nowhere to go, and I could help out with the chores! You should have seen my apartment in L.A.; I kept it spotless."

…

Family is everything, but luckily, family is also the people one chooses rather than the ones they're born into.

Everyone, including traitorous, deflecting Thing, adores having Harmony around, and the dreadful vampire has developed some impressive survival skills. So far, Wednesday's attempts to let sunlight into her room, to behead her, and to poison her with holy water have utterly failed.

Even more annoyingly, everyone has decided the infant is her responsibility.

On the first night, they all chipped in and put back the nursery in the room connected to hers, dismantling her study in the process.

It's rather painful, because she does have fondness for the baby, but Harmony will outstay her welcome, eventually, and she'll insist on taking the child with her. Wednesday has never been one to form unhealthy emotional attachments to others.

"The baby needs a name," Pugsley insists, slapping said infant as she tries to bite him in a sensitive place. "Oh, Mama! Papa! She's flying; bring the camcorder!"

Wednesday sighs.

…

"I had a bad dream," Harmony insists.

"You may sleep in the nursery."

Agrat-Ammit, curled underneath her crossed arms, whines.

"Would you rather she sleep in here?"

"Gu," Agrimit declares, bringing her newly-formed tail up to her mouth.

"But if I don't get a good night's sleep, I'll totally spaz on my job interview!"

She truly needs to remember to wield Harmony into her coffin at night; she's always sworn she'd never be the type of mother who loses sight of her priorities once the baby came, but it's a bit more difficult than she imagined. There are well-baby check-ups, teething troubles, and lately, Agrimit has gone through a phase of trying to commit ritualistic suicide.

"I will stake you if you don't depart within the next thirty seconds."

Perhaps unfortunately, Harmony complies.

…

Handing the little girl over, Harmony carefully sits down on the padded chair, only squirming slightly, as Agrimit blinks up at Wednesday with transparent eyelids. "Mummy, tell me a story," she demands.

Laying her in bed and securing the restraints, Wednesday asks, "What would you like to hear, my minion of darkness and despair?"

"The story of me!" Agrimit says, decisively, opening her mouth to accept the spiked dummy. Grandmamma has voiced her concerns about Agrimit continued attachment to it, but Wednesday isn't worried. After all, her father's made the excellent point Uncle Fester sucked on a dummy well past his sixteenth birthday party.

Nodding, she starts, "When I decided it was time to become a mother, your Uncle Joel recommended Wolfram and Hart, and at the time, Harmony was working there. The first time we met…"

"That's not how it happened," Harmony interjects at one point, pouting. "I totally had you eating my-"

Checking that her daughter's asleep, Wednesday leans down to kiss her before standing up and turning off the light, making sure the windows are properly covered with blackout curtains. "You truly need to learn how to distinguish reality from your warped narcissism."

Grabbing a nearby hairbrush, Harmony follows her protesting, "Hey! I'm _primo_ at remembering important stuff. Mr Butcher tells me all the time how valuable an employee I am. He's never missed a killing or been late for ambushing a victim because of me."

"You don't even remember your own boss's name," Wednesday points out. "There's a definite mental deficiency when you can remember appointments but not the name of the creature signing your checks."

"Mr Butcher totally suits him, though," Harmony insists as she withdraws a knife and stabs an attacking Thing while Wednesday slides the bars to Agrimit's room shut and inserts the key.

"May the demons and minions of the deepest, darkest pits of Hell always watch and protect you," she says, quietly, as she pockets the key. "In your most gruesome of nightmares and your most pleasant of dreams, never forget how much I love you, my darling Agrat-Ammit Addams. You are the best of me, and I am thankful every day for your presence. May I always be the best of you, and may I always be worthy of your presence."

With that, she and Harmony walk away, resuming their argument.


End file.
